Gone
by ThatPrettyStare
Summary: Clare has a true passion for dance. When it comes to the stage, she's on it. But with the stage come critics with harsh words; words Clare takes to heart. Soon, Clare's focus is off dancing and on her weight - and how to lose it. Ch 6 up!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! Whoa, can you believe this is my first full-length fanfic? I've been lurking around this website for a bit and I've decided to try and get a story out there. It seems like a lot of fun and a great learning experience so here I am! I'm really excited to show you what I'm capable of, and to get some criticism on what I really need some help on.**

**This story deals with anorexia. Clare doesn't have it in the first chapters, but she will. You'll find out why if you read on, but just as a warning or precaution, I'm letting you know. Some might not want to read about that, but it is going to be extremely prominent throughout the whole story, so if it offends you (though it is DEFINITELY not my intention) please, stop reading. **

**Also, to any of you with eating disorders: I know you must have heard this before from people you know, but you don't have to go through this alone. An eating disorder is serious business and I don't want you to have to keep struggling. I'm no counselor, but please try and seek some help from your parents or guardians, neighbors, friends, anyone. They are more than willing to be there for you and you do not, under any circumstances, have to do this by yourself. **

**I must have gone over this draft a zillion times! If it has any mistakes or things you think don't make sense, tell me in a review, because I don't catch everything! Also, here's a full summary:**

**Clare Edwards has a true passion for dance. She's always been on a stage, telling a story with her body. But with the stage comes critics, ones that tell Clare she's not the dancer she always thought she was. Soon, Clare's focus is off dancing and on her weight - and how to lose it. Can someone save her? Or will she just keep losing precious pounds until she's truly...gone?**

**Because I know you're dying to know: Yes, Eli will play a major part in this story. So will Adam. Because this story is an alternate universe; not the Degrassi you're used to, I have taken out some major characters because I don't think their presence is needed in this story. If you guys want them, though, I'll find a way to incorporate them. :) There are also a lot of my own characters added so be prepared!  
**

**This is a mega author's note, but I have just one more thing to say: thank you. Thanks for giving this story a try! I know it won't be the best thing you've ever read, but it means a lot that you're interested. Constructive criticism is appreciated! So thank you, and please review when you're done so I can know how to improve in the next chapter!**

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_Twist to face the crowd, shimmy shimmy. Hand up, hip shake, and drop. Jump and twist, grin. Leg up! Circle and -_

"Stop, stop! This is all wrong," my dance teacher Miss Amanda huffed, her Cuban accent ringing. She shook her head so hard that her deep brown hair fell down from her loose bun to her back. Her legs, wrapped in cheetah print tights, walked towards the center of the room. I felt the determination radiate from her as she faced the ceiling to floor mirror, shaking out the rest of the bun and wrapping the tie around her wrist so it wouldn't get in her way.

"This is what I envisioned when I choreographed it," Miss Amanda said. She performs the few steps much quicker, clapping in time with the heavy beat of the music blasting from the nearby stereo. Her hair swished gracefully; her legs long and like a gazelle, perfectly precise. Her face is all smiles and she flew across the room as if in a trance, dancing with ease.

I wistfully wish to dance like her. I know I can do it - train harder, perform harder, and eventually dance better. I want to make Miss Amanda proud. Though our class is small, only four of us, we're determined. Being the only sophomore in a group of juniors and seniors makes me even _more _determined to show them what I can do. I'm in the advanced group for a reason, right?

Our class was preparing for the big winter dance recital, to be performed in front of thousands in just two weeks. Everything we did had to be perfect at this point - there was no room for error. As Miss Amanda danced, I drank it all in, trying to copy every move so I could do it just as well as she did.

Miss Amanda finished and looked back at our small class, eyebrows raised. "See?" she said. "Easy. Do it again."

We tried again, four bodies coming together as one as we told a story in our dancing. Chins high and jumps sharp, we stopped at nothing but perfection. I knew this was what it felt like to be a dancer, to keep going, keep pushing, and to never give up until you reach your goal.

When it ended, I'm breathing hard but smiling at Miss Amanda, confident I lived up to my performance. Her face was twisted, a mixed expression of concern and frustration and suddenly my heart stops. We did it wrong. I failed as a dancer. I cringed and looked down, bracing her reaction.

"That was much better, ladies! Way to go," Miss Amanda chimed. Her accent is thick but I understand her perfectly. My head snapped up and I grinned, high-fiving with one of the girls nearby me. Our show was soon, so Miss Amanda's quick change in perspective about our dance was expected. She was just as nervous as we were.

"However, there is one little thing," she murmured, her eyes grazing across us. "Clare, will you come up here please? I want you to do the dance alone for a moment."

I nodded enthusiastically, smiling up into Miss Amanda's face before walking to the center of the room and stopping. "I'm ready when you are!" I tried not to let the excitement in my voice show, but failed. To be performing in front of the whole class, hand picked by Miss Amanda, was nothing short of an honor.

She nodded, signaling me, and started the music. I performed the dance again, smiling at the right points and hiding my face at others to accommodate the beat, just like she did. With my toes pointed, everything is precise as I performed the contemporary routine.

My head was in a whirl; I hadn't performed as hard as this in a long time. Practices were different than performances. Whenever I would dance in front of someone, at a recital or just my mom, it was much more enthusiastic than at the simple practices when I was learning the dance instead of showing it off. But this was different; I was alone, dancing the vision of my teacher. I had to be better.

I stopped as the music did, chest burning, face glistening with new sweat. I was tired, but that was a definite sign I had done my best. I could only hope that everyone was as pleased as I was. I quickly turned toward Miss Amanda in anticipation.

She nodded again, thoughtfully. "I see the problem now," she said. I stop smiling. Problem?

"Clare," she said quietly, pretending the others couldn't hear. "Suck in your gut, dear. It's been poking out more than usual lately."

My cheeks burned and I froze, holding my breath. Miss Amanda had just said the worst thing she could ever say to me. No dancer wanted to be called...fat! All dancers were slim and perfect, poised and confident. Was I not a good dancer because of my weight?

I knew it was a stereotype, that all dancers had to be slim. But it was the truth, I knew it from the look on my so-called friends' faces. I was fat and they were all tiny and thin, a result from celery and water, hardly the healthy eating a true dancer needed.

What was it, to be perfect just for the approval of others? Where was the passion in that? Here I was, thinking I had it all. I knew I had a bit of a belly, but I never would have thought it would actually get in the way. I could eat healthy, with a little sugar here and there, but it would do nothing to affect my dancing. That was only in the magazines or movies, it wasn't real life.

Then again, I guess it was. I tried not to make it noticeable as I carefully sucked in my belly and walked back toward the three girls silently giggling at my expense. Miss Amanda titled her head up, glaring down at them and they instantly stopped. A single glare wouldn't do anything now, I thought. The damage was done. I was the fat, young girl out of place in an advanced dance class.

We went over the dance a few more times before class ended. I followed my classmates toward our bags, full of water bottles and a change of clothes, preparing for the blast of winter that we would face as soon as we walked out the door. As I bent down to grab mine, my arm accidentally brushed on of the senior's arms, Delilah.

"Fatass," she murmured, as so Miss Amanda wouldn't hear. My face crumpled and the three girls I thought were my friends cackled as they hoisted their bags up their thin arms and walked out of the room, linking arms and gossiping. Did they think I was fat this whole time?

I had never felt more alone.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Head hanging low, I turned toward Miss A with shame apparent on every feature.

"Why," I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice as tears blurred my vision, making three Amanda's instead of one - three girls laughing and calling me fat. "Why didn't you just tell me that I...weigh too much?"

"Oh Clare," Miss A said, bending her knees so she was face-to-face with me. I felt like a child as she continued, "It was never about weight. You're in this class for a reason: you have outstanding talent and enthusiasm."

"Then why do I have to suck in? Why can't I be proud of who I am?" My voice betrayed me on the last few words and tears spilled out of my eyes, running along my cheeks and searing my heart, humiliation plastered on my face.

Miss Amanda sighed and shook her head, wrapping her hair back into its bun. "Clare dear, everyone has a flaw. Delilah's overly confident, Hanna forgets to smile. Chelsie forgets the moves...Everyone, not just dancers, always have something they can improve on."

"And I need to improve my weight?" I lashed out bitterly. I dragged my hand across my face, wiping the traitor tears away.

Miss Amanda stretched out and stood, reaching her full height, almost two heads taller than me. Her long, thin frame mocked me.

"It's not the weight," she said forcefully. "If anything, it's your height. You're the shortest in the class by far. If you only grew a few inches-"

"But that will never happen," I interrupted. "You had me as a dancer here since I was six and I'm sixteen now. You know I've always been the shortest. It was never a problem before!" I looked up at my teacher, confused and sad. She puckered her lips, like looking at me was something she wouldn't rather do, and my head fell back down.

"I'm not saying you're fat," she repeated. "But it could become an issue. All dancers need to be of an appropriate weight for their height and age to really excel."

"I do excel!" I said loudly, the tears flowing freely now. "I'm a great dancer, you said it yourself!"

"Clare," Miss Amanda said. I stopped and closed my eyes, wishing I could just leave now, walk to my mom's car, where I'm sure she was waiting and wondering why I'm late.

"You don't have a problem," Miss A continued. "You're dancing is fine. But, I do see that you lag behind sometimes, probably because you're tired, right?" I thought back to the dance today, remembering being a little more tired and out of breath than usual. I nodded slowly, regretfully.

"So, it's in my best intentions that I think it would help if you dropped a few pounds." I choked back a sob and she placed her hands on my shoulders, willing me to listen. "It's not you Clare. It's the life of a dancer to take out some of the joys of eating unhealthy foods. I mean, we all need to cut back sometimes. It's very important in your case; your height will soon not be the only thing in your way. "

I nodded one last time. I loved to dance, and I guessed that sometimes dancers had to make sacrifices. I mumbled an "Okay" to Miss Amanda and she smiled, dropping her hands and stepping back.

"Excellent," she says, accent strong. "I'll see you next week, same time, same place, all right? I'll have a meal plan for you." I nodded and turned, grabbing my bag and digging around for my clothes. I pull on a pair of jeans, a sweater and gloves over my dancing outfit. I threw Miss Amanda a short wave before exiting the class and the building, running out to my mom and hopping into the car.

"Hi, honey," Mom said. I have time to throw my bag in the backseat and buckle myself up before she continues. "What took you so -" She stops almost as soon as she started, her long fingers on the keys, the car still in park. "Are those tears? What happened?"

"Nothing," I lied. "Chelsie told the funniest joke, I must have sprouted some tears it was so funny." I smiled, adjusting myself in the seat before facing the window.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time. I didn't at home. Today your father just wouldn't -"

I tuned her out, pressing my forehead against the cool glass window as Mom rambled on about my father. I sadly watched as the world outside blurred. We zoomed past a couple, all bundled up against the harsh chill of the early December winds, various houses topped with soft, white snow, and a young guy with shaggy black hair and clothes, walking a black dog and simply contrasting with the winter wonderland around him. He seemed to _want_ to stand out as much as I didn't.

I turned away from the boy who was the opposite of me and sighed. I was cursed with a short body. The soft fat I had building up on my midriff wouldn't be a problem if I was taller. Although the thought of a need to lose weight had crossed my mind, I hadn't ever thought about it for too long because I didn't think it would become an issue. No one had said anything and I was in an advanced class; I thought that a little belly would actually be better because it would show that girls who weren't the thinnest could still dance.

I guess it was time for reality to set in.

It wasn't long before I knew what I had to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! This is chapter two of my new story, Gone. I'm glad you've come back for more! Haha.**

**Like I said in the summary, this story will be AU, or Alternate Universe. Although it follows the plot from the show; i.e. Clare's parents fighting, it's loosely based off the show. The reason for their fighting and other important elements are different than the show to fit the plotline of the story. The story will definitely be slow-coming; I'm going to pace it out. The story is really Clare-centric and for that to fit up to expectations, I need to explain her background and things that are different more so you can really get a feel of what this Clare is dealing with. So sadly, Clare and Eli won't be kissy for a while. (But, he is introduced in the next chapter! :D)**

**Updates will most likely vary, but I would also like to keep a schedule, so look out for new chapters every Monday! It will brighten the dreaded Monday for sure. ;P**

**This chapter focuses on Clare's family and their background. Although there isn't much dancing in this chapter, the chapter is still crucial to get a full understanding of Clare's feelings. Please enjoy and review! :D**

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It never ends. The fights, torments, problems are constant; they fail to go away. On the outside, everything seems perfectly normal. But on this inside, it's everything but. My family is a whirlwind of faults and problems in a never-ending circle of despair. The despair that tears at your insides, clawing your heart and laughing as you struggle to survive.

Dealing with this every day is certainly a challenge, but it could be worse. I have friends. I have good grades. I have a family, albeit dysfunctional, but a family when others don't.

And I have dancing. The feeling of the dance on my feet, the itch to perform, the rush of adrenaline never fails to bring me a light in the dark abyss that surrounds me whenever my parents are together. When my parents weren't able to, at least dancing could put a smile on my face. All I needed to do was get up and move around, and everything would be all right again.

Dancing is a great escape because I can be myself, do what I want. Dance my emotions. To dance is to live. And to be told I must be a certain way to do what I love? It's like cutting my feet off.

I fought the urge to break down in tears again as these thoughts crossed my mind. Why did my one love have to be limited too? School and family are a blur, unfocused. I am only happy when I am dancing.

I didn't want to feel this way, to have this tornado of sad, angry, frustrated emotions swirling through my head. I don't enjoy feeling like I have to resort to something other than my family to feel better, but did I really have a family to turn to when my parents don't even pay attention to me?

Mom pulled into the driveway and stopped the car, her salt and pepper chin-cut hair swinging as she bent to take the keys from the ignition. She has tired wrinkles etched along her face and soft, blue eyes, always willing me to "understand".

As a mom, it was her job to tell me she loved me, feed me, send me to school. When I'd get home she'd help me with homework, tell me she liked my dances, and pretend that she cared. Then, she would fight with my dad and the mirage would be gone. This was not my mother, this was a robot.

I loved them and hated them at the same time. My parents made me sick to my stomach, and wanting happiness. Dancing was the solution, and without that, I was nothing.

It was a good thing I would never give up.

Dancing is my whole world! Time stands still when I dance. The passion and emotion I put through each dance is real and true and strong. Because that didn't meet the standards of others, I knew I'd just have to try harder.

I got out of the car silently, mind humming in thought. I walked in the door, stomping my boots on the welcome mat in greeting. It would only be a matter of seconds before...

"Clare!" Caroline exclaimed, running down the stairs on her 6-year-old feet. She greeted me just as enthusiastically, her thin arms squeezing my frame with desired force. I tried to smile but it probably came out as a grimace. It pained me to know she had to grow up around feuding parents, but she reminded me that my family wasn't all bad. She was cheery and energetic; had a much better attitude than I did about our parents. I always wondered how she did it.

"Hey little C," I murmured, bending to kiss the top of her head. "How was your day?"

"Great!" she said, bouncing up and down. "I drew a picture, watched a lot of TV...and," her voice dropped to a whisper, "I had _two_ bowls of Lucky Charms...Don't tell Dad." She grinned, a bottom tooth missing, her gums a healthy pink.

"I won't," I said, shaking my head to prove it.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, tilting her head. "How did the Saturday practice go?"

"Fine," I said simply. The memories of the dance class haunted me. _I'm not fat, I'm not that fat..._

I moved aside as Mom entered, taking off my coat and hanging it in the closet. I took off my boots and stepped over the snowy mat, welcoming the warmth of my house to envelop me.

"Helen?" Dad called from around the corner. "Is that you? Did you bring the milk home?"

"_Yes_, Randall, I brought it home. Do you think I'd just drive by the store and forget?"

So much for home.

"Well, how should I know?" Dad asked, rounding the corner, finally coming into view. His light brown hair that Caroline had adopted was slightly sweaty; he wiped his hands on his pants and left slick oil stains. I suddenly realized he was in the garage this whole time, fixing up his old car. Dad runs the local mechanic shop a few miles up the road. When he isn't there, he's in the garage, trying to fix a car we all knew was lost to the ages.

If I remember right, that was how the fighting started.

"Last time, you forgot," he continued, stepping further into the living room. "Oh, hi Clare."

_Oh, hi Clare. _Thanks for forgetting about me again.

"Hey Dad," I said, trying to sound as happy as I was to be home just a few moments ago.

"I did not forget!" Mom lashed out. "Why are you bringing this up again? It was just milk. You forget things too, like last week-" She stopped, seemingly thinking. "How long were you in the garage?" she asked.

Dad shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. He knew where this was going.

"Randall!" she scolded. "You left Caroline in the house alone, _again_? She's only six. What do you think you're doing, leaving a child alone in the house for who knows how long? I was out doing errands all day so I couldn't watch her. You, knowing this information, leave her alone? What kind of parenting - "

I tuned them out, ears buzzing. Their words filled my ears and fried my brain into a puddle of sad. What's worse is that I know Mom's right. Though Caroline doesn't mind getting to eat an extra bowl of cereal, it can be dangerous leaving her alone for hours on end.

My newly fried brain conducted my feet to walk, hands to grab Caroline and lead her up the stairs. I pulled her into her room, decorated with her own various drawings. She looked up at me with tired eyes; she wishes they'd stop fighting, too.

But they won't. It's been going on longer than Caroline's been alive.

As Dad left the lawyer firm and pursued his "lifelong" dream of being a mechanic, Mom threatened to leave him. The bills were stacking as Dad had less and less income. Leaving the firm was the first mistake.

The mechanic business was failing and Mom was hurrying to pay the bills, taking on two and then three jobs. I did all I could - babysitting, lemonade stands - to scrounge for extra cash, but to no avail. After we had to sell the house when I was 10, we moved into a rinky-dink shack of a home; and that's saying it lightly.

A dancer of four years at that time, I had to stop for a while because the classes cost too much. I wasn't a serious dancer then, so I wasn't too upset, but it was like a punch in the face, a wakeup call: we had a money problem, and it wasn't going away.

My parents were true geniuses as they had Caroline next. A last futile attempt at saving their marriage, Caroline was born in September of 2004. I don't know what they were thinking, that another child could help us in our time of need. Caroline is my best friend, but it's hard to forget the beginning memories of hatred I had towards her. With Caroline, we struggled even more and had to live on welfare for a bit.

Thankfully, Dad cleaned up his act some and tried to pick up his business. He was at a dark time in his life, perhaps his midlife crisis, and his drinking started and quickly flourished. His second mistake was that he refused to go to AA, to admit he was addicted. It seemed that alcohol helped him forget his first mistake of leaving the firm, and what it did to his family. He didn't want to stop, and hasn't. He's been a shell of a man, basically living in the garage for years. One year, he forgot Caroline's birthday.

And then mine.

Caroline was a few years old when I convinced myself to get a job. I was only thirteen, but Dad's business, although stronger, still wasn't at the best it could be at. Mom was a wreck. She had to quit her jobs to be a stay-at-home mom and if we lived only on Dad's money...I just needed a job.

I managed to land one at a local fast-food joint. By that time I'd already looked at least fifteen, so they'd accepted my application. Money was coming in slowly but surely as I juggled school, work, and helping my mom take care of my sister. It was hard, but sometimes you need to make sacrifices.

Mom would go out sometimes, claiming she needed a break. I understood; she was working with an infant everyday, all day and she deserved it. Soon, she'd get home later and later every night that she went out.

It didn't take long for me to figure out she was having an affair.

Both of my parents made tremendous mistakes that they can't fix. But should they? The law firm made my dad unhappy, and it only seemed logical to quit. The man my mom was with made her happy when Dad couldn't, so the affair seemed probable too. I don't want to see it from their sides; it's hard to be angry at them when they were truly unhappy.

But it was easy to be angry at them when they turned around and destroyed our family.

I hear Mom crying at night. She hates Dad for what he did, and I know she wants to leave and never come back. She wants to forget Dad and the damage he's done, and she wants to move in with her not-so-secret lover. She wants a divorce.

She wants the thing I dread.

I know my parents don't get along, that past mistakes are the reason for their constant fighting. But I want what we used to have to come back. Before Dad quit the firm, before everything. I want to be a family again.

But how can we be a family with a divorce?

We're better now. With Dad's business picking up, we were able to move back into our old house. We get by with just enough, now that Mom can work again since Caroline goes to school. It's the little things that make all the difference, right?

But Dad still drinks and ignores Mom, and Mom still goes out at night and comes back in the morning, flustered and wearing mismatched clothes. I don't know if Dad's caught on yet because _oh yeah, _I never see him.

I can really only make it by with Caroline. Bubbly and cheery, she is the one thing besides dancing I can count on. If we were separated, I don't know what I'd do. With happy pictures of me and her covering every inch of her bedroom walls, it's hard not to love the heck out of her.

I'm full of pride when it comes to Caroline. Though we look nothing alike; me with auburn curls and blue eyes and her with Dad's light brown hair and brown eyes, we couldn't be anything but sisters. She has insane artistic talent at such a young age, and she told me once that she wanted to dance, just like me.

I looked down at Caroline's eyes, the ones that I looked into when I would take care of her when she was so young, and the memories flood. I pushed them away forcefully and instead focus on the new object she has in her hands.

"Do you like it?" she asked tentatively.

It's a picture of us, holding hands. Instead of the usual forest full of high trees and green grass, or the meadow with beautiful flowers she draws us in, we're standing in an outline of a house, split down the middle. We face the center. Next to me is a figure with short black hair and high heels, pointing a finger over our heads and turned so we only see a profile. Next to Caroline is a man holding a bottle and a wrench, pointing accusingly too. As I look closer, I realize that Caroline and I are both crying, fat blue tears on each of our cheeks.

I'm momentarily speechless, before I said the only thing I could to get my mind off my family.

"Caroline?" I asked. "Do these pants make me look fat?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone! Been too long, hasn't it? :P I'm on Spring Break now, so I've had the time to finish this chapter up! Awesome, eh? :) Though it definitely wasn't much, and you readers deserve more, I just don't have tons of time anymore. You'll definitely get updates every once in a while because no way am I giving up, but those updates will be far and few between. I'm SO sorry everyone, but I have other priorities that need to come first. When I do get most of my free time back, updates will be more frequent. Yay! :D **

**I'm sorry the second half is so short and frankly, not that good. I've tried a lot of different things to get it just just justtt right, and I think this is my best effort, unfortunately. :/ I think it's sloppy and choppy and rushed, but I also think it got out some major key points, so I suppose it's a tie. My beta liked it, the super cool **KH – Akyra**, so I'm hoping you like it too. Sorry I'm posting so late, time and lengthwise! Do enjoy as best as possible. :) Here it is! Chapter three, finally complete. :) Expect chapter four in the meantime! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. Love! **

"_It's the all-new Magic Robot! The Robot will do anything you ask - clean your room, write your history papers, even the unthinkable -"_

Click.

_"Do you have strange lumps anywhere on your body? Are they squishy, and is their pus green? If the answer to these questions is yes, then you need - "_

Click.

_"Need marriage counseling? Call 1-800-555-2654 today! That's 1-800-555-2654! Call within the next five minutes and even receive a free pamphlet about our services! Yes, it's free! So, call now!" _

My mother turned the TV off with another quick click from the remote, lips contorted into a grimace. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling awkward.

It was Saturday evening. Because of the discouraging practice earlier that morning, I was determined to get the dance just right. After I had taken Caroline up to her room for a nap, I went across the hall to the bathroom. The floor-length mirror in the bathroom, so similar to the one at the studio, gave me the perfect opportunity to practice without watching eyes. Practicing the dance moves with my stomach sucked in was a new experience, to say the least, but I didn't mind the way I looked as my body twisted and turned gracefully in the long mirror.

In fact, I enjoyed the new look. The bulge was gone and I could see more than just my toes. I felt confident, more than I ever had, and that was saying a lot. I was happy with myself before; now I was positively glowing with pride.

All this for just a sucked in tummy? Imagine if it was real, if I was fit. I couldn't stop just now; I'd have to keep going. Besides, it was what Miss A wanted anyways. Going on a diet would be fine. I wouldn't need her meal plan and I could prove to her I would be able to be a _true _dancer in no time.

I had sucked in my stomach since this morning, but no one had noticed. Caroline was still asleep, probably exhausted from her Dad-less adventure and Mom and Dad were preoccupied with each other all afternoon, suddenly toning their fighting down to hushed, angry tones.

Especially when I was near.

They normally weren't considerate of Caroline's daily nap; instead, they'd fight just like if she were awake. But it wasn't fighting anymore, this was war. They would yell and throw breakables on the ground, hitting and slapping each other to no end. I was constantly terrified, not only for them but for myself. What if they turned on me?

I should have welcomed the whisper-fighting with open arms, but I was uneasy. Why the sudden softness? What were they hiding?

"Well, looks like watching TV isn't an option tonight," Mom suddenly said, faking a cheery attitude as she turned to face me on the couch. "What do you want to do tonight instead?"

It was my turn to grimace. "I thought that you were going to drive me over to Chelsie's. The girls from dance class invited me over, remember?" I mumbled.

"Oh," Mom said, crestfallen. She slumped low on the couch. "I thought tonight would be ours. Besides, I got a vibe that those girls didn't like you."

Ouch.

"Mom!" I gasped hotly, embarrassed.

"Clare, dear, it's nothing to be ashamed of! Personally, I think those girls...how do you say it, now? Suck. Those girls suck, Clare, big time. Who even cares about them? "

I know she was trying to make me feel better. It was no secret that Delilah and her cronies didn't like me. But _I_ cared about them. I wanted them to like me so much it physically hurt.

They were the best dancers at the studio, and I was privileged enough to dance with them. When Miss A added me to the class at the beginning of the school year in September, I was ecstatic. Working so hard for nearly 10 years and I finally made it to the advanced class!

But as the weeks of practice turned into months, nothing I did made them like me. I tried my best but to no avail; they were a clique and I was excluded. Maybe now that I'd lose weight, they would accept me.

Maybe my parents would look at me with love instead of like I was in the way.

"Anyways, I can't drive you in this storm! It's gotten worse since this morning. You know January weather. You'll have to call and tell those girls you can't come."

"But Mom! They're my...they're my friends!"

"Clare," Mom's voice was sharp. "After all these months, I'm glad those girls are finally warming up to you. But I just can't drive tonight, all right? It won't work. You don't want to be with me tonight?"

"Why the sudden want to hang out anyway, Mom?" I asked. "We've barely talked for...for a long time. The only thing you want to talk about is how much you hate Dad."

"Now Clare, I never said I hated your father."

"Don't start, Mom! We always fight about how you two fight, and I'm sick of it!"

Mom hides her face in her hands, muffling her voice as she said, "I just wanted tonight to be about us. Your father and I were discussing who would get who and -"

I gasped, taking in her words. My throat suddenly closed and my hand shook; my body went into overdrive as I took in her words. My heart let out piercing, strangled scream before collapsing in defeat, never to beat again.

I was broken.

"What?" I gasped. "You guys are separating?"

"Don't act so surprised," she lashed out bitterly. "It's been along time coming."

"And so you're separating Caroline and me, too? Is this why you're suddenly talking in quiet tones, so I can't hear you discussing which one of us you don't want?"

"Clare! It's not my decision anymore, all right? We're going to quietly separate and for now, you'll go with me and Caroline will stay with your father."

"Mom! That's dan-"

Mom's head flashed up from her hands and the look she gives me is scary. Her eyes are wild, hair askew, and her face is red, with a capital _R _for rage.

"Do you think I don't know that? I am her mother; of course I know what her needs are! How do you think Caroline would adjust? This is the only home she's ever known; don't you dare try to mention that shack we lived in, either.

"I can't make all the rules. Your father has the right to determine things, as much as I dread. And he's decided it's in Caroline's best interest to stay, where her life can stay the same." Mom finished with an air of finality, daring me to speak.

I did anyways. "How can you say her life will stay the same when half of her family will be gone?"

Mom cut me off, "We've arranged a visitation schedule for you. When the divorce papers are finalized, I might be able to get custody of you both. "

If my heart wasn't already dead, it would have shattered into pieces at her words. My face crumpled, and I let myself cry for the second time that day.

My nightmare was suddenly a reality.

"Honey," Mom murmured softly. She reached out, probably for a hug, but I shied away.

"Don't touch me," I sobbed. "How could you do this? We're not a family anymore." I stood up from the couch, my tears blinding me. "I don't even want to be around you. I need to go out."

"Not in this storm, Clare Diane Edwards." She stood too, determined. As if on cue, the wind howled with extra force and shook me to my core. "It's getting dark out," she tried.

I dragged my hand across my eyes, harshly wiping away my tears. My mom is a blurred image of short hair and frown wrinkles in front of me. "You don't care about me, about my feelings!"

"If I care about anything, it's my daughters and what's best for them! Please Clare," there's an edge to her voice, "I'm begging you to understand."

That was it. "Understand?" I screeched. "You don't know the _definition _of understand. Think about that the next time you argue with Dad." I turned, grabbing the keys off the nightstand from where Mom left them this morning.

Mom's voice has an edge to it. "Clare, if you walk out that door -"

"Watch me." I grabbed a thin excuse for a coat from the closet and shoved it on.

"You have one night to pack your things!" Mom yelled, walking to me. "We're moving into my other place tomorrow afternoon; you're transferring!"

"You can't make me do anything," I hissed. I slammed the door in her face as a parting note.

I was gone.

-

Driving during the storm to avoid confrontation with reality wasn't my best idea; I didn't even have my license yet. I skidded and slid on the snowy, slicked roads, turning the wheel too far but not knowing when to stop.

Driving was harder than it looked.

Hastily, I parked Mom's car in the parking lot of a foreign restaurant. I had driven to a completely different part of town in my haste, and entered the building just to get out of the huge storm outside.

The place might as well have been closed, because it was deserted. Inside, there was only a tired busboy behind a counter, wearing a black shirt with "The Dot" emblazoned on it, an older couple sipping from teacups in a booth, and a boy around my age sitting in a chair at the counter looking impatient, like he was waiting for something or someone.

"Hey! Are you going to buy anything or what? We close in a half hour," the busboy said. He had ruffled blond hair and tired eyes that were glaring in my direction. I jumped at his sudden outburst, but nodded all the same. I moved and sat at the counter and ordered a hot chocolate.

"Don't worry about him. He's always angry." It was the boy in all black. He turned to me, voice low as to not disturb the other customers, though with their age, I doubt they'd be able to hear anyways.

I had kept my head down to avoid confrontation, but this guy didn't seem to interpret my message. His attempt at conversation seemed harmless, though, so I shook my head in response. "No skin off my back," I murmured, and after a brief hesitation, I continued. "I've dealt with worse...trust me."

He ignored my comment. "I don't see you around here..." I felt him looking at me, gaze curious if not intense. I squinted at him, turning my head to one side. It was strange how familiar he looked...

Before I could reply, my hot chocolate came. I wrapped my fingers around the handle and lifted it up to my mouth, letting the sweet aroma fill my nostrils. I smiled slightly and allowed the drink to help me forget the pain, if only for a moment. Chocolate desire scorched my throat and I let my eyes flutter shut in content.

And then I froze. What was I _doing_? Chocolate was strictly against the rules. No! I can't want this, I don't want this, I won't want this; I'm not thinking. The once sweet chocolate is now bitter against my tongue and my stomach twists as it receives the enemy. But I can't stop...

I guzzled the rest of the mug, and the hot chocolate sloshed down my throat like a waterfall. It's gone in mere seconds.

But it's not worth it. I see Chelsie laughing as I'm denied access of ever being the lightweight girl, the one lifted in strategic dance routines. There's Hanna, too, calling me "big pig" and other names that reduce me to tears. Then, to complete the terrible trio, in front of me is Delilah, stealing the man I knew I'd never get with ease, simply because her thighs don't touch.

Why is something that is so hard for me have to be so effortless for them? I rested my hand on my stomach, disgusted with each noticeable rise and fall. I pushed my mug away from myself, willing myself not to cry, when I was brought back to reality.

"Hey! Chick. Snap out of it! That'll be two bucks." It's the busboy. He stood in front of me, critical distaste apparent in his eyes. Ashamed, I wiped my mouth and reached for my coat pockets. Dipping my hands inside, I turned them inside out, searching for money but coming up empty. As realization dawns, I bite my lip. I don't want to resort to this, but I have no other option. Slowly, I turned to the boy next to me.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I'm asking this," I muttered, looking at my hands. "I don't know how I didn't think to bring money - okay, well, I haven't been thinking at all tonight. But could you spare some cash? Oh God, I sound like a beggar. I - I..." my hands shook, and I looked up, desperate.

But the boy is gone. In his place sits two lone bills, crinkled yet crisp. I looked around the shop; the elderly couple is still there, but the boy is nowhere to be found. He must have slipped out when I was busy hating myself.

I slid the bills across the counter to Angry Blond, and quickly got up and out of my seat. I hurried out the door before there was time for me to do anything else without thinking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello my lovely readers! :) I'm sorry it's been so long that I've updated! I'm here now, though, no worries. I hope you didn't mind the wait for this chapter! It's my longest so far, and I'm really proud of it. I have to thank my beta for boosting my confidence, the amazing **KH – Akyra**!** **She is superb and always supportive. I really value you! :) **

**There are a few things I must mention before this AN is over. The first is the dream interpretation. That is not my thinking. The interpretation is actually from **. **I'm not saying the interpretation is mine because it isn't, I only have the minimal amount used in this chapter with permission from the website.**

**The second is all about you. What would you readers like to see happening in this story? I have a plan and an outline for this story, but I'd love to have each of you incorporated in some way. Tell me your ideas in a review or a PM, whichever, and I'll look them over. That would be fun. I want to use this as a thank you for all your support, which I love immensely. :D **

**Thanks again, all of you, for motivating me and loving my story! I couldn't thank you enough. Enjoy this next chapter! :) **

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _ The sound of my bare feet hitting the ground was deafening. Laboured breathing matched with the agonizing fear I felt made it a struggle to continue, but I had to keep going. I had to push myself farther than ever before.

Any less movement and I would be dead.

I coughed, the force enough to rack my body into shudders. An owl hooted in the distance, and I jumped, running faster. The dead of night surrounded me; windowless black skyscrapers matched the black pavement and black sky overhead, starless.

I would've felt alone in this dark hole, but I knew I was being followed. In a frenzy, I looked over my shoulder, nearly tripping. I ran even faster, going nearly to my boiling point. Sweat dripped down my face and I took a random turn, trapped in an endless maze. I was lost forever.

The demon chasing me was far from tiring; my fear was his energy. I shuddered again at the thought, then cursed myself. He was gaining quickly and I was losing speed. I was desperate for a street sign anywhere, anything to show me that this wasn't the inevitable end. I turned again, running harder. My foot jabbed hard against something sharp, possibly a nail or broken glass, but I pushed on. Stopping was deadly.

Tricking him would be careless and stupid, because no one outsmarts Death. The owl hooted again, shouting my name: "Clare!" it yelled in warning. "Pick it up, Clare! You're going to lose!"

My jaw clenched and I hiccuped, pushing through the pain in my chest. Death was ghosting closer; his cool grip moments from overtaking me. Suddenly, I was pushed against a wall. Death had closed in on me. His hand met my chin, and he gripped hard.

"Silly Clare," he murmured. His unoccupied hand snaked down and curled around my waist, pulling us close. His lips connected with my neck, and I squirmed, letting out a terrifying scream. Death grinned, and his teeth grew as my fear escalated. He tightened his grip on my body, and I was at his mercy. One sharp pull to the left from his hand, and my neck would snap.

His lips pulled back, and his teeth gleamed, white contrasting against the overwhelming blackness. Slowly, _slowly_, his teeth broke my skin. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. He dug his teeth in deeper, a low laugh escaping from the back of his throat. He had me now. His teeth sank so deep, and I was losing so much blood...

The blood pooled where he bit me, and Death eagerly lapped it up. He pulled back, his hold still tight, watching me shake. I craned my neck away from him while I had the chance, and bowed my head, my wound large, gaping, and throbbing.

"Please," I whispered, the pain nearly unbearable. My chest heaved with the effort of speaking. "Give me more time," I begged. "I need time, I'm so young..."

His voice was deep as he replied. "You started this, Clare. It was your decision." Death swooped again, this time clawing at my stomach. He tore through my shirt and my ribs screamed in protest. My eyes clamped shut and my body shivered; I tried pulling away, but he yanked me back in.

"Why are you doing this?" I cried. "Why not kill me quickly?"

Death laughed, throaty and heartfelt. "Because, Clare," he said, his fingers teasing up my leg, twisting in my hair, "this is what you wanted."

He grinned, daring me to look him in the eyes. "Death come quickly, right?" Still managing to pin me, his hands found their way to my face. I breathed heavily, fighting to stay alive just that much longer. My eyes finally met his; they were black, hollow. He caressed my cheek, being anything but loving. Wiping away my tears, he smiled again.

"Oh, Clare. You make it almost too easy." Death's fingers laced around my chin with a strong grip. His eyes gleamed, and I realized he loved his job. I anticipated his next move and tried to stop him, but he was too quick. His grip tightened, and it was effortless.

_Snap._

I bolted up in bed abruptly, my breathing erratic and my hands shaking. I looked around cautiously, nearly expecting the dark, ominous black world. Thankfully, I saw my comfortable room; sky blue walls, feathery curtains, and a mahogany floor.

It was only a dream, I told myself. I tried to slow my breathing. Anxious still, I raised an arm and felt at my neck. Nothing. My hands slid to my stomach; carefully, I pulled my nightshirt up. My stomach, though bulgy, was creamy white and there were no lacerations in sight. Heaving a sigh, I fell back on my pillows.

"It was only a dream," I mumbled. I curled around my pillow, clutching it to my body for comfort. I tried relaxing, but the dream stuck in my mind, fighting me. I couldn't help but be confused. _Why _would I dream about dying, especially in such a way? Was it because of my parent's separation, or was it something deeper? My mind was whirling.

At dance a few weeks ago, Chelsie was telling the other two in our class about a website she constantly visited that interpreted the meaning of her dreams. When I tried to join in the conversation, I was ignored yet again, but the website stuck despite my attempts to forget the cruel memory. I got out of bed, rushing down the stairs and through the kitchen to the family computer. No one else seemed to be up, so the computer was free.

I logged in, then Google searched "dreams." Immediately, I found Chelsie's website. Scanning through, I found "death" among the definitions for dreams:

_To dream that you die in your dream symbolizes inner changes, transformation, self-discovery and positive development that is happening within you or your life. You are undergoing a transitional phase. Although such a dream may bring about feelings of fear and anxiety, it is no cause for alarm. Dreams of experiencing your own death usually means that big changes are ahead for you. You are moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind. These changes does not necessarily imply a negative turn of events. Metaphorically, dying can be seen as an end or a termination to your old ways and habits. So, dying does not always mean a physical death, but an ending of something._

I sat back after I finished reading, a grin spread upon my face. This opened a whole world for me; this proved I was doing the right thing. Big changes? I knew what that meant. My dream no longer frightened me. Although it was definitely strange, the dream was positive. After my mess-up with the hot chocolate last night, this was the turning point, the motivation that I needed. I was pushing through the tough times to have the best results in the end.

I pulled my shirt up again, glancing at my stomach. It bulged and poked out, but it wouldn't for much longer. I was going to win this battle, no matter what. I was ready.

"Clare?" My mother's voice, though drifting softly from nearby, startled me and I jumped from the computer desk. "Clare, honey, are you downstairs?"

"Over here," I called. I quickly closed out of the browser window, fumbling slightly, until Mom came into sight.

"Honey, what are you doing up so early?" Mom's graying hair was splayed every which way and her plaid nightgown was wrinkled from being slept on. Her face displayed her mood: sleepy yet curious. She seemed to forget about what happened last night. Or maybe she just didn't want to address it.

"Mom, it's ten am. I have to go get ready for church. I was just on the computer for a moment." I tried slipping past her, but she held me back with a swift hand movement.

"Clare...You know that we're not going to church today, right? I know that you haven't packed yet; you need to get a move on if we want to leave by noon."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Mom, church will be the only routine I have left after the move! Caroline and I will be separated, I'm leaving my friends at Bardell, everything will be gone!"

"Degrassi has better opportunities. Besides, you're overreacting, honey! We're just moving out of the district. In reality, your friends will still be there, and so will the church. And, you'll still have dance class!"

"But I'll never s_ee _my friends!" I said, voice rising. "They won't want to come over anymore; I haven't told them anything and they're still suspecting you and Dad are getting divorced!" I choked on my words, staring at the floor to prevent the tears.

"Raina and Eloise will understand. You'll still get to see them," Mom said. "When you're here, that is. Get to packing!" she repeated. "I think you'll love it at my place."

"You can't make me go!" I almost wanted a repeat of last night's fight, just to show her how determined I was, but the look she gave me shut me up.

"I let you leave last night to cool off, to grasp what was really happening. But now you need to follow my orders, Clare. You're not allowed to mouth off anymore...this is real. Now, go get ready."

I sighed, wanting to win but already feeling defeated. I trudged up the stairs to my room, each step like a thundering weight I now had to bear on my shoulders. The happiness I felt from my dream meaning left, flying away like wind.

Mom was wrong. My life was going to be completely different now that I was changing schools, that her and Dad were separating. Changing schools in the middle of the semester was risky; I'd have to start nearly all over to keep up if the schools ran on different schedules.

If I wasn't already upset enough, I had Caroline to fret over. I loved my dad, but he wasn't the best parent. Mom was usually the one who planned our school bake sales, came to every dance performance, and cheered Caroline and I on in whatever activity we decided we liked at that time. All through the years, it was always Mom. With Dad and his drinking, I was so worried about the well being of Caroline, it made me physically sick.

I took it upon myself to uphold a mainly cheery disposition despite the circumstances. I had to, if I wanted to stay positive for Caroline and set a good example. I had to for myself. But it would be so much harder now, couldn't my mom see that? With my parents' marital problems, I had problems. It was that much more difficult to be happy each day. Every time my house felt less like a home, I would dance and my parents would fade, if only for a moment. I could be happy again.

But what was that now? My dancing was a joke, according to both my teacher and the girls I had danced with for months. I was proud of myself when I danced, I felt alive, and now I had nothing. Happiness was a distant thing, now impossible to achieve.

But thena voice in my head spoke to me. _Lose the weight, and be happy..._

I sighed, trembling. I wouldn't give up; I would lose as much weight as I needed to in order to be able to dance well, to please Miss Amanda. That was the goal from now on.

"Hurry, Clare! I'm making breakfast and it will be ready soon. Chop, chop!" Mom called from downstairs. I sighed, resigned. As I packed, my mind drifted, already anticipating my new life. Didn't Degrassi have a uniform system? And cell phone jammers? I wouldn't even be able to text my mom if I needed her for something. Tears burned in my eyes, hot as lava but unwilling to spew out of the volcano. I felt my heart beat heavily in my chest, the struggle to fully realize what Degrassi was going to be like too overwhelming for it to handle.

I folded my clothes into neat pile, packing them in my suitcase from my dresser. I whipped shirt after shirt, a few pairs of jeans, and some blouses into the suitcases, before transferring to my closet. Folding and packing the clothes was relaxing, helping me get my mind off the move, Degrassi, and my weight. What an oxymoron.

Soon, the smell of cinnamon French toast and bacon wafted up from the kitchen, making my mouth water. I clenched my eyes shut, nearly giving in, but I held my breath.

_8_  
_9_  
_10_

I breathed out raggedly, finished packing and dragged my suitcases downstairs. Mom was slaving over breakfast in the kitchen; in the time that I was upstairs packing, she had already changed into a warm jacket and jeans, preparing for the winter weather outside. Steam rose and the food crackled loudly as she cooked it, pushing her damp hair away from her face.

The scent of every food from my favorite breakfast drifted in my direction: the French toast and bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes. Mom was making a deliciously tantalizing feast and I was already finding it hard to resist.

How would I be able to keep up my own diet if one whiff of food sent me in a whirl? I sat at the kitchen table, the farthest seat from the stove, wanting what I could not have yet again. I had to be determined, I had to win...

Mom soon finished cooking and set a heaping plate of my favorite foods in front of me. I swallowed, blinking rapidly and trying to get a grip on my breathing. This was so hard; I wanted to give in and eat so much already, and it was really only day one of my diet. The taunt of food was embarrassing...I felt more fat than I ever had before.

I needed food. I wanted food. But I couldn't give in. I gripped the table, nearly splitting it in two, desperate to win this battle.

"Clare, honey? Are you okay? You haven't touched a thing on your plate." Mom finally spoke, her voice airy and distant. I was in this dream state, only surrounded by food, the cleverly enticing enemy.

"Clare!" It was Mom again, louder. I jolted, now in harsh reality, and turned to her.

"Yes?" I asked delicately. I licked my lips, drumming my fingers on the table in an attempt to forget the food.

Mom, seated next to me, furrowed her brows in worry. "Aren't you hungry? I made all your favorites because we have such a big day ahead of us."

I looked down at the food on my plate. If Mom was right I knew that my body, so used to food, wouldn't be able to unpack everything and move all around the new house on an empty stomach. I grabbed the fork and knife Mom had brought me with my food and began to cut it into pieces. With each stroke of the knife, the pancake got smaller and smaller, nearly acceptable to eat. Once a piece was the size of my fingernail, I scooped it up with my fork and popped it into my mouth.

It was still warm...but I swallowed quickly. I knew that if I enjoyed it too much, I wouldn't be able to stop eating. And eating was the enemy.

I could feel Mom's curious gaze watching me as I cut smaller and smaller pieces of the eggs, French toast, and sausage. Carefully, I ate one small piece of each, pretending to eat more but really slipping it down my sleeve with every other bite.

If I was caught, punishment would be lethal.

"Clare." Mom said harshly. I jumped. "Do you not enjoy the food I made for you? Normally, you'd be asking for seconds." I cringed, hating the reminder. Suddenly, Caroline came bounding down the stairs, yawning and her long brown hair flying. I grinned. Caroline was my saving grace.

"I was just cutting it into pieces for when Caroline came downstairs, Mom. You know she can't eat such big pieces, and it seemed like you only made enough for us."

"Well," Mom began. "I didn't think she was going to wake up this early. I thought maybe she'd fix herself some cereal." Mom pursed her lips as Caroline crawled into her lap, squeezing her in a hug before helping herself to my plate. Mom ruffled Caroline's hair as she ate, her eyes sad.

I was so confused. She was eager to leave, but wanted to stay with Caroline? She couldn't make up her mind.

"We don't have to go," I blurted, hopeful. Mom looked up at me, those sad eyes ever-present.

"It's way past the point of making that decision, Clare. " Her voice was firm, and I closed my eyes, chiding myself for being hopeful. Being together was better than running away from the problem, couldn't she see?

I stood from the table. "Well, I'm full."

"What?" Mom was flabbergasted. "You hardly touched your food."

"I had some cereal before you woke up," I lied easily.

"You can have the rest before you go, Clare!" Caroline grinned, mouth full of sausage. "We can trade! I think I've had enough Lucky Charms for now."

I smiled. "Thanks, Little C."

She gulped down the food, unknowingly mocking me at how easily she could eat. "When will you and Mom come back for a visit?"

Mom stiffened. "Well, Caroline..."

"I'll come whenever I can," I interrupted. "Mom's probably going to busy with her new-"

"Job," Mom interjected. The word "boyfriend" caught in my throat.

"Job?" I repeated, cocking my head to the side. Mom nodded, giving me a look that said "Later."

"I figured if I'm going be upholding a house by myself, I need to make an income to support Clare and myself," she told Caroline.

Caroline looked confused at our interjecting conversation. "But you'll both visit a lot, right? Like once a week?"

"I don't know if visiting that often is going to be a possibility," Mom said softly.

Caroline's smile drooped and her chin trembled. "What? Why?"

"Our lives are turning around," I said bleakly. "Nothing will be the same. But I will do my best to come see you when I'm not busy with homework or something, okay?"

Caroline nodded. "I guess that's okay." She stood from her perch on Mom's lap and ran to me, throwing her arms around me. "I'm going to miss you so, so much, Big C."

I felt tears prick at my eyes again. How could my feelings be so off? I was sad about my family, yet determined about my weight. I needed to focus; as soon as I lost weight, my family would be happier with me, and maybe everything would go back to normal.

We would be together again.

I held her at her shoulders, moving her so I could look in the eyes. "I will come back whenever I can, okay? And things will change, and we'll be happy, all right?" She nodded weakly and I pulled her to me in the biggest hug I had ever given her. Mom cleared her throat and we let go of each other. In the midst of our hug, she had cleared the table.

"Ready, Clare?" She asked. My body shook with the onslaught of tears and I felt powerless. I nodded, grabbing my suitcases and walked toward the door. Mom grabbed Caroline and swung her in the air; she giggled, glad to be in Mom's arms. I felt six again just by looking at them.

"I'll miss you, Mommy," Caroline said softly, whispering in her ear. She clutched at her shoulders, unwilling to let go. Mom's face crumpled, and for a moment I could see behind her tough exterior. She was just as miserable to leave as I was, but she knew she couldn't stay any longer.

The heavy anguish on her feminine features tore my heart to shreds. Did she really want to break us apart, to ruin our family? I knew the answer: no. But she felt she needed to, to save herself from an unhappy marriage. Mom stayed with Dad for so long, begging him to change, and when he didn't...she couldn't handle it anymore.

Mom wasn't the bad guy. She was just another victim.

"I'll miss you too, Caroline," Mom mumbled, her voice breaking. She swiftly lowered her to the ground and pulled her into a hug before patting her on the back. "Head back up to bed, all right? Wait for Daddy to come and wake you up for the day." Caroline nodded and turned, dashing back up the stairs. I gazed after her sadly, wishing she could come with us. But I knew she couldn't. Dad needed some companionship besides his old car, otherwise he'd go even more insane. Caroline needed the consistency, or what little she could have left. Yet, Mom was still planning to take her with us too, once she got used to it.

Our family was in terrible, raggedy condition. I just couldn't wait to get back on track.

"Ready, Clare?" Mom asked, turning to me. I saw her discretely try to wipe at her eyes.

I sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be." We headed out of our house, forward march, and into our new lives.

Into a world of changes.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hello all! I'm back after a crazy two month hiatus. Hah. I want to say a big thank-you to all of you who have sent me encouraging words and helped me a lot. Also, muchas gracias to my beta, KH - Akyra, who beta'd the heck out of this chapter. (Heh :D)**

**On another note, who else is MEGA excited for the Degrassi season eleven premiere tomorrow? I know I am. Think of this as a little added bonus ;) GAHH seriously can't contain my excitement. :D**

**Enjoy this chapter! I hope it was worth the wait. :)**

* * *

What do you do when your nightmare becomes a reality?

It was apparent that all I did was sit and wallow in my own pity, on a car ride to my new life. I had a bruise on my arm from constant pinching and tear tracks along my cheeks from hushed crying. Mom was oblivious and silent, though I could understand why. She was thinking, just like I was. She was thinking about all the changes our lives were going to have, whether I wanted them there or not.

We wanted different things. She wanted to get away from Dad, but I wanted to see him more than every once in a while, to prod him into getting better. She thought this move was for the best and I thought... otherwise.

Was I being selfish, only thinking about myself? I was quick to point an angry, blaming finger at my mother, for taking me away from the rest of our family but also for her lies and deceit about her marriage. But who was I kidding? I had lied before, deceived. It wasn't like I was hesitant toward change; I wanted to change myself every time I looked in the mirror.

Change wasn't the problem, I decided. It was being taken away from my family. It was being dragged across town against my will. It was realizing that my biggest fear, my parents' divorce, was springing into action.

And all of my attempts to stop it from happening were lost, shoveled into the waste bin like the perfect snow turned damaged slush outside my window. What upset me the most about the separation, the eventual divorce, was that they didn't even try to stop it.

Were my parents accepting defeat? I fleetingly remembered my Girl's Night Gone Wrong with Mom: the television flashing the marriage counseling commercial, and Mom deliberately turning the TV off, refusing to look for help.

To my knowledge, Mom was the one initiating the divorce. But why? Didn't she realize this was hurting Caroline and I? What about what we needed, as her kids? As a family? Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of Caroline without me by her side, showing a brave face.

Was it wrong that I preferred the fighting over the end of it all? Mom was trying to tell me that it was for the better, and although a distant part of me understood she might be happier, that was only one thing compared to the multitude of things that would become worse or evolve into problems after the divorce.

Try again! I wanted to scream. Don't give up on Dad, on the family!

Guilt wrenched my body; I felt all too responsible. I wasn't a good enough daughter to keep them together; I didn't do enough to make them happy. The list was endless. But I could be better. If I lost weight, I would be the best dancer, and my parents wouldn't be embarrassed by me. Maybe they'd understand that I would be the piece that would bring our family back together, by bettering myself.

I'd be able to fix everything in time. That was my only saving grace.

It wasn't much longer before Mom pulled into a dingy parking lot. We were years away from our old house, but Degrassi, my new school, was just a few miles down the road. The small restaurant I had visited last night, after my fight with mom, was within walking distance. After the treacherously silent car ride, pulling to a stop was the only thing welcome compared to my new surroundings.

Mom stepped out of the car. I grimaced and followed suit, then stared up at the house before me. It was a tall brick building, with two side-by-side doors. The roof was topped with gray snow and the appearance of defeat. Trash and other rubbish littered the already beaten grounds, wedged in the slush. The horrifying scene of it all was completed as I realized that parked next to our car was a big, black hearse.

I sighed shakily. _This_ was my new home? A _duplex_? I didn't know much about them, but I was surprised and saddened that my new home wasn't going to even be completely mine. Wonderful.

"Clare," my mom's voice rang out, "don't forget your bags in the trunk."

"Right," I murmured. I opened the car's trunk and grabbed two bulky suitcases; Mom already had her three tucked under her arm and swinging from her hands. I followed her lead up the stone steps and through the front door on the right of the complex to a small lobby-like foyer lit only by candles. My head was screaming "Fire hazard!" but Mom only said: "Makes it nice and toasty in here, doesn't it?" followed by a try at a smile.

I smiled back in a baring-teeth sort of way.

We approached the door to get into our part of the house amidst struggling, as our hands were full of suitcases. Mom tried at pieces of conversation, but paired with the fact that our grand move was soiled by a dirty building, a broken family, and cheap lighting, I wasn't in much of a mood for talking.

"Here we are," Mom said brightly. "Home sweet home." She plunged her hand into her jeans pocket whilst simultaneously holding her suitcases and withdrew a silver key, which she inserted into the keyhole, swung around once, and turned the doorknob.

The door lurched open and I stepped inside before Mom could. Throwing my bags carelessly on the floor, I examined the flat apprehensively. There was a stained coffee table placed directly in front of a worn, holey couch. The television set nearby was small and so old it still had antennae dangling from the top. The walls were painted a musty gray (this was no surprise) and overall the living room felt like a morgue. Cobwebs sprang up in corners and around and the place looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.

Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I found my voice. "Mom?" I questioned. "Where's the rest of the furniture?"

Mom walked into the room and closed the door behind her. "This is just the living room, honey," she murmured tentatively. "There are three others."

"Yeah," I said automatically. "But the living room is more like...a lobby. Where are the lamps, the bookshelves? What about a kitchen table, perhaps? Because I assume the other rooms are bedrooms and a bathroom."

My mom nodded, looking more like a child with each passing second. "We'll eat on the coffee table, dear," she said warily.

She must have felt my reaction coming. "But Mom!" I complained, eyes wide. "This is hardly a living room, a home! It's dirty and vile and _that smell is so disgusting I just may chunder._This room is so tiny, how will I be able to stand it? Couldn't you have gotten a better place?"

I was afraid to check out the rest of the place, worried that the other rooms would be even smaller. I barely had any room to maneuver around the few pieces of furniture without crashing into something. "I mean, really, Mom...why this place?"

"You see, Clare..." Mom began. She didn't have time to finish, for at that moment the door began to rattle, and I heard the distinct sound of a key twisting through the lock. The door opened, and standing there before me was the last person on Earth I wanted to see.

A man.

"Jerry!" Mom exclaimed, running over to him and hugging his great mass with enthusiasm. "I thought you weren't going to be home for another hour!" She sloppily kissed him, her eyes alight with something I hadn't seen in her in a long time.

"Clare," Mom turned to me, an arm dangling around the foreign man's waist, "This is my boyfriend, Jerry."

"Erm, hello..." I tried choking out politely. I had an inkling over the years Mom was cheating, and I knew that was part of the reason that my parents were separating, but that didn't make meeting Jerry any more of a surprise. Or, maybe, it was how he looked that was the surprise.

Jerry looked about 6 feet tall. He had a soul patch and wire-rimmed glasses. Jerry wore his thin frame and large arm muscles with pride, and from his bare arm, I could make out a tattoo of "Helen" along his bicep. Gag. He reeked of cologne and when he smiled at me, there was an unmistakable presence of past braces for his teeth were as straight as a rod.

Jerry, I determined, was revolting.

'"Hello, Clare," he said in a British accent, "I've heard so much about you over the years!"

"That's fantastic and all, but I need to go vomit now, so if you will excuse me..."

"Clare!" Mom gasped sharply. "Be nice," she threatened. "Jerry was kind enough to let us move into his home, so try to be grateful."

I gaped at her. "Grateful?" I shouted. "It was this _punk_who made me move! He ruined my life and my family! Mom, why are you even with this bastard? He probably makes less than Dad ever did, according to this place you call a home."

"It's better than fighting," Mom yelled back. "Here I'm happy, and you have to understand my side!"

"I'm _trying_," I insisted, my voice now coated in tears. "But it's so hard when I miss the rest of my family...I don't want to be angry, or upset, but this isn't easy for me, okay!" I held back tears like I never did before; I would not let Jerry see me cry. "I love you, Mom. I just wish that you...that you were happy with Dad."

At my words, Jerry looked affronted, but Mom spoke before he could, her voice low. "Those days are long gone."

I burst into tears. Before I could do anything else, like run from the room screaming as I desperately wanted to, there was a knock at the door. I hastily wiped my tears. Who could it be now?

Jerry closed the space between himself and the door within a few strides. I stepped across the threshold, arms crossed, bracing for what could be the worst. What was this, the community duplex?

He opened the door and I was greeted with a surprise bigger than Jerry the Revolting. My jaw dropped in shock and I stumbled back a few paces. I was dreaming; this wasn't happening. How could this happen at all?

"Hey there, neighbors," Jerry greeted warmly, stepping aside to let the group of three walk in. It was _the boy from the diner_, accompanied by two adults I presumed to be his parents. By this time I was sure I was catching flies and looking rather unattractive, so I shut my mouth with a snap.

Everything was the same, down to his black clothes and swishy bangs. It seemed that both times I had met him I had just fought with Mom. Although my mind was still clouded with those thoughts, I took a chance and looked over at him.

His face was as pale as ever thanks to the month of December no-sun, but he was still one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. The purple bags under bloodshot eyes did nothing to help his complexion, but he looked as soft as porcelain. He was as thin as a rod but so desperately handsome. I almost reached out a hand to touch him, but I thankfully restrained myself.

With green eyes glinting, half his mouth turned up in a polite smile near my direction. I nearly melted on the ground right there.

"Welcome!" The man next to him boomed. He had a deep voice and kind eyes. He grinned at Mom, then at me. "My wife, Cece, and I are so glad you decided to move in with Jerry here. He seemed so lonely before!"

Mom smiled kindly at his words. I was broken from the trance Diner Boy had bestowed upon me and tried to smile, but failed. I didn't like moving here. I didn't want to move here...I missed my real home.

"It's great to have another teenager around now," the woman, Cece, added. I noticed for the first time she had a tray of food in her hands. I held my breath. "We brought some welcome brownies, if you must give them a name. I use them for any occasion." She winked at me. "They're my secret recipe."

"Oh," Mom said, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much." Cece and the man nodded, smiles on both their faces. Cece walked forward and handed me the tray. I blinked my gratitude. Here this family was, being so nice and sweet to us, and I was being such a jerk to them, Mom, and Jerry. I felt awful all of a sudden, even more so than I did after entering this place for the first time.

"Thanks," I managed to choke out. I set the brownies on the coffee table.

"You can call me Bullfrog," the man said. "We're all family here," he chuckled. "Speaking of family, this is my son, Eli."

There was that half a smile again, almost a smirk. Eli. The name itched to roll off my tongue. I hadn't even said a word to him. I was so transfixed by the fight with Mom and the hot chocolate last time we had spoken I couldn't even get a good look at him before.

To make up for it, I went back to staring.

"Clare," Mom's voice rang out. "Why don't you and Eli take a look around while Jerry and I talk to Cece and Bullfrog?"

I nodded blindly and beckoned Eli to what I assumed would be my room. Hastily, I grabbed my suitcases and scurried, Eli following behind casually. I dumped the suitcases in my room and twisted to face him.

He smirked. "Well, don't you look familiar? It feels as if I just saw you yesterday!"

"Hardy har har," I replied, though my heart was racing. I struggled to find words to speak. How could I convey my surprise at seeing him again mixed with the immense gratitude I felt?

"How...how does this work? I mean, it's you! You're Diner Boy!"

"It's surreal, I'll admit it," Eli said. He plopped down on the mattress nearby. It squeaked.

"We're neighbors," I said, more to myself. "You helped my charity case self yesterday, and then here you are again. But, I have to know. How did you know I didn't have any money yesterday, that I wouldn't have been able to pay?"

He shrugged, waving a hand in the air to demonstrate the simplicity of it all. "It was late at night and the place was deserted. No one comes into The Dot at eight on a Saturday night just to _hang out._They're out on the town or busy at home."

It made sense, but I wasn't convinced. "You were at The Dot at eight on a Saturday night, hanging out all alone," I pointed out.

"Who's to say I didn't have plans?" he responded, quick as a wink. I frowned. He _did_look like he was waiting for someone yesterday. "Besides," he continued. "That coat was huge on you. I knew it wasn't yours; you could barely reach your hands in the pockets. Even I wouldn't trust putting my wallet in that coat. You would have been holding the money you planned to use."

"Hmm," I mused. "Observant as ever."

He smirked mischievously.

"Well, thanks," I murmured. I dug around in my pockets for my wallet. "Might as well -"

"It's two bucks," he scoffed. "There's no need to pay me back."

I blushed. He yawned once before standing and brushing off his legs. "I'm sure I look super tired," Eli said meekly, changing the subject.

"Me too," I admitted. "I was up all night, anxious about the move..." I hesitated, unwilling to continue.

He waited a beat, before asking the question I was dreading. "Why?"

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him. "Now that we're neighbors, we'll be seeing a lot of each other," I said instead, trying at optimism, much like my old self. Before...everything.

"You're transferring to Degrassi, I assume?" he asked. I nodded. "Brutal," he said sadly. "We have uniforms."

I groaned. "Just my luck."

Eli opened his mouth to continue when his mother called his name. "Looks like I better be going," he said. Was that a hint of disappointment I detected? I could only hope. I nodded and he exited my room, and eventually the house.

I nearly swooned on the spot at the thought of him. He was mysterious and smart and sarcastic and I just couldn't wait to get to know him.

"Clare!" Mom yelled to me, breaking me from my thoughts. "Are you coming? Jerry and I thought we'd all go to a movie."

"No," I called back. "I'm going to unpack." I felt footsteps approach the door; it opened quickly and Mom's face popped in. She smiled distantly.

"Are you sure?" She asked. I nodded hastily, before I could give in because of her sad look, and she left my room, too.

I laid down on my bare mattress, mind zinging. It was all so much to take in; the new house, Eli, Degrassi, the weight...I didn't know how I could take it. My mind kept shifting to dance, no matter how hard I begged it not to. I couldn't get Delilah's image out of my mind, how she laughed at me and called me fat.

There was the hot chocolate slip up that Eli had to witness...I cringed. Would anything ever be okay again? To prevent tears from spilling again, I stood and did the first thing that came to mind:

Dancing.

Arabesques and grand jetés, twisty pliés with leaps and complicated sautés. I even dared at fouetté en tornant until everything was blurry and hazy. I stayed with ballet moves because I was a ballerina. Miss A made funky ballet dances and though I was in more than one class of hers, ballet was now going to be my main focus. Ballerinas were graceful and beautiful.

Most of all, they were skinny. And I was motivated.

I danced past dark.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Hello world! I'm back after my conspicuous lack of updating. This chapter goes out to alwaysjustme15, for being mega awesome and being the first reviewer of the last chapter, and hopelessRMTCx3 for sending me a super sweet message today and motivating me to finish this chapter. You both ROCK.

This is Clare's first day at Degrassi! Hope you like chapter six. Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

I wrapped a towel around my head, emerging from the bathroom after the quickest shower I had ever taken (spider count: 3). I felt dirty and gross because of my surroundings, an excellent first day at Degrassi impression, but I tried to keep up with a good attitude.

I rechecked my shirt, making sure the deep purple cotton was tucked in. If you added "dress code malfunction" to the list of things I was already worried about for the first day, I knew I'd have an aneurysm.

"Hey Mom," I said, stepping into the living room. To my surprise, Mom was already up and dressed, ready to drive me to school.

"Hey, Clare," Mom replied, diligently typing away on her laptop. "Want breakfast?"

"Of cour-" I started. What am I thinking? Maybe I just wasn't used to my new routine yet. I shook my head to clear it out.

"Hm? Is that a no?" Mom asked.

I contemplate saying no. Then again, it wouldn't help my first-day jitters to go throughout the morning with an empty stomach. I knew my limits.

"Do we have any fruit, or something? Oh wait, we don't even have a kitchen," I replied bitterly.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times," Mom sighed, exasperated. "Jerry usually had takeout when he was living here by himself, so a fridge, etc., wasn't necessary."

"Mom!" I laughed once, a harsh sound. "You never told me anything. I didn't even know about Jerry until yesterday!"

It's sort of the truth.

Mom looked defeated. "I'm trying to convince him to get a better place, but for now, we're here. There's a banana I got from the convenience store last ni- oh! I bought Lucky Charms!" She said excitedly. "I know they're your favorite."

These words nearly break my heart in two. "No, Mom," I whispered. "Those...those are Caroline's favorite. You know mine! You made it before we left!"

Mom stood from her place on the couch and sighed. "I'm sorry, Clare," she said, collecting her nearby belongings. "I'm just a bit frazzled. I got that new job, and with us just moving in... It's a bit much right now." She gave me a sympathetic smile and dusted off her pants. "Before I forget anything else, I should get to work."

I shifted from one foot to the next anxiously. "What about me? I have to go to school." For added emphasis, I gestured to my uniform.

"Clare, honey, I have to get to work. Can't you walk? I'm sure it's not that far." She hobbled my way and briefly kissed me goodbye.

"But Mom!" I said, whining now. "There's so much snow on the ground. I'll... I'll get hypothermia or something! And die!"

"Clare Diana, calm down and don't get attitude with me," Mom said sternly. "I know you can make it work. Love you," she added. She smiled quickly at me before leaving me alone.

After grabbing the banana, I trudged out of the house, discouraged. So much for a good attitude. As I walked down the front steps, I sighed to myself; so far it was Universe: 1, Clare 0. The fight between Mom and I reminded me of what was ahead: my parents' divorce. What if, after my parents got divorced, Mom and I wouldn't be the same? I knew that everything was changing, but that didn't mean I wanted it to. Everything was a cruel reminder; I desperately wished it were done without me having to fix it. I fished out my old iPod from my jacket pocket, willing the soft tunes to let me escape, when I ran into a body.

"Whoa," I oofed, stumbling a bit.

"Hey there," Eli said, chuckling.

My heart stopped. I looked at Eli and his thick rings and leather jacket and green eyes and nothing hurt. His eyes were shining and a soft smile was stuck on his bow shaped lips.

"Eli," I breathed. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you."

Eli waved his hand in the air, much like the night before. "It's no problem. Listen, were you going to walk to school?" He gestured behind him and I notice the big hearse. "I could give you a lift."

I looked beyond him, towards the direction of the school. Cool December wind brushed my hair from my face, the curls whipping erratically. The gray overcast sky, reflecting in the sidewalk, promises snow, and soon.

I nodded. "Yeah... I could use a ride, I guess." I looked back to Eli and he smiled at me.

"Cool." He twirled his keychain around a finger. "Get in the hearse, Clare."

"Do you command people to get in your hearse all the time, Eli?" I smiled, climbing into the front seat. He laughed before getting in to my left.

"Oh, definitely," he replied, still smiling. He quickly exited the driveway and soon we were on the road to school. We drive quietly for a moment; he's looking toward the road and my gaze is on him. I licked my lips, trying to find something to say.

"So, uh, I see you're wearing a red shirt," I said quickly. Curse my bad small talk skills! Duh he's wearing a red shirt, Clare, you're so stupid...

"Yeah," Eli said nonchalantly. "Part of the uniform system, you know? All grade elevens wear red." I fleetingly remember Mom talking about the uniforms last night when she brought mine home, but I don't think I was listening.

"I see," I nodded, sounding more ridiculous by the second. Why did Eli have such a strong effect on me? It wasn't long before I saw the school approaching; maybe it was closer than I thought. I silently cursed myself for not taking advantage of the witty banter opportunity.

"So... will this become a regular thing?" I asked, turning to him shyly. Eli smirked, drumming his fingers on the wheel before pulling into a parking space. He turned off the car and faced me, eyes glinting.

"I'll let you know."

I smiled over at him and got out of the car. I walked into the school, into the office. It was cramped and smelled like mothballs and an unidentifiable smell, making breathing something I didn't plan on continuing. I waited for a bit before I fidgeted in my chair. I scratched my knee, though it didn't itch. I counted the miniature dots on the ceiling with a bad paint job. So far, I was at 239. I sighed loudly, my mood wavering from impatient to bored to concerned.

Finally, I cleared my throat. "Excuse me," I said, waving my hand in the direction of the secretary. "I'm Clare Edwards; one of the transfer students? I'll be out of your hair as soon as I get a schedule."

The secretary paused from typing diligently at her computer at the front desk and nodded, head bobbing. "Hon, why didn't you say anything earlier?" She swiveled around in her spinney chair to a filing cabinet and pulled out a Manila folder labeled with my name. I stood and walked over to her.

"Easy as that," she smiled. She opened the folder and fussed for a bit before finding what she needed. "Here you are," she said, handing my schedule over. The secretary, whose nametag read Tabitha, gave one last nod to me before turning back to her computer screen.

"Uh, thanks," I mumbled, turning away. Why did I have to wait so long? Why couldn't I speak up? I'm so nervous and I'll probably be late and –

"Hon," Tabitha said. I turned back and she had a soft, motherly look on her face. "Welcome to Degrassi."

I let out a breath. (It really did smell odd in the office. I hoped it wasn't Tabitha).

"Thank you," I said again. I opened the door to a whole new world.

* * *

Degrassi is a big school.

I couldn't tell if was my height picking on me again or what, but I felt like I was transported into a world of giants when walking into the school. Big guys with blue shirts paraded around me and I was jumbled, lost in a sea of red shirts not too far along. I must clearly have directional problems because I accidentally walked into a class of grade nines; I walked out spluttering and looking at my schedule like a maniac.

I was beginning to think I was entirely hopeless as I was running through different deserted hallways, but thankfully, I saw a fellow purple-shirted guy digging in his locker and jogged over to him.

"Hey," I said, huffing and puffing like an animal. "I'm running all over the place. Could you tell me where room 217 is? I'm already super late, and it's my first day here so I'm pretty sure I could use a friend."

The boy shut his locked and looked over to me, cradling his books. "Yeah, totally. You said 217, right? We have homeroom together; just follow me." To my dismay, he started off jogging in the direction I had just come from. I huffed some more and tried to keep up with him.

We approached the classroom just in time; the late bell rang loud and long right after we entered. Unfortunately, all eyes were on us.

Great first impression.

"Nice of you to join us," the teacher remarked. "Take your seats." I flushed deeply, taking the next to last seat directly in the middle of the pile of classmates. The boy who helped me sat net to me. After cautiously glancing toward the teacher taking roll call more times than necessary, I whispered to the guy.

"Thanks for helping me," I murmured, still red. "I must have passed this class a thousand times..."

"No problem," he smiled. I grinned at him.

"I'm Clare," I whispered. I stuck out my hand and he grasped it, warm and smooth and strong. He flipped his brown bangs away from his eyes and looked bashful.

"Adam."

* * *

After Homeroom with Adam, who was sweet and really funny, trying and failing multiple times to sneak a comic book, I ventured out into Degrassi's halls yet again to stumble to my next class. After the uneventful science class, I try to trek down my third period. This time, I didn't have Adam to help me along, so I ended up being late again.

I walked into the computer room, cheeks red. The teacher, a pretty Asian in a cute flowery blouse smiled at me from over her glasses.

"You must be our new student… Clare, right?" She checked her attendance list and nodded to herself.

"Yeah, I am," I said dumbly, catching my breath.

"Where did you transfer from?" She asked lightly, gesturing for me to sit down.

"Bardell," I said, finding a seat in the middle. There's a sudden, loud laugh and someone yells, "Bardell SUCKS!" I fight the blush that sprouted on my face and turned around to comment.

And I froze.

"Delilah?" I whispered.

Her long, light brown hair was sleek and lied over her shoulder. It reminded me of Caroline, and I can only imagine my grimacing face. Her eyes are glittering and brown and on her face is one of the snarkiest looks I've ever seen. She's wearing dangly red earrings and she scoffed at my lack thereof.

"Clare," she simpered.

"You… you go here?" I said softly, the shock apparent on my face.

"Three years running," she replied. She pinched her red shirt in her fingers, laughing again.

"I always thought you were a senior," I said. She shook her head, her face twisted in a grimace.

"I can't believe you followed me all the way from dance class," she scoffed.

My heart hammered in my chest and I opened my mouth to say something back, but Ms. Oh, as I read on her nameplate, began to talk about the latest assignment.

I've known Delilah for months. Months. How did I not know the truth all this time? Was it because I automatically thought she was superior that she had to be a senior?

I crave for her attention, yet recoil from it. There's an undesirable need to please her; I yearn for her approval but never get it. Why should I want to make her happy, when all she ever does is hurt me? She's better than me and I know it. I can only wish to be half as good as she is. I forgive her with ease because she is the best, and I don't want to become higher on her enemy list.

I tried to listen to Ms. Oh for the rest of the hour, but my mind was too cluttered with thoughts. What if other students responded to my transfer in a similar way? I'd never live it down.

I stayed silent for the rest of the class.

Just a class later and it's lunch time. What used to be my escape is now taunting and looming over me. What food is appropriate to eat? What if I slip up and sit with the wrong people? What if I _actually slip?_

The more pressing question running through my head: When did I lose my self confidence?

I scurried through the lunch line, grateful that the day is half over, when I overheard a conversation that tore me to pieces.

"You blew me off that night," Eli's voice said nearby. His voice is low, tight, and there's a hint of hurt in it. "I waited for nearly an hour and a half."

Delilah's voice is condescending. "Something else came up, all right? Drop it."

"I won't," Eli responded. "What's your deal?"

"Nothing." I looked over to see her shake her head. "There was a problem and I had to solve it."

"Good try at being elusive," said Eli. He scowled at her and pushed his tray along.

"You know I'd rather be with you," Delilah purred. She snaked an arm around him and pulled him close to her in a sneaky embrace. "Kiss me."

He complied, and I stare in shock. Someone tried to push me along in the line, but I leave my tray as I run out, too overwhelmed to stay any long.

What a hell of a first day.


End file.
